


even if i want to, i can't look away (it ain't easy to forget you)

by bellawritess



Series: cake prompts [4]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Famous Luke Hemmings, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, Songfic, also they all live in manchester, band exists luke's just not in it (anymore), because the song, believe me. i would not have willingly set a fic in manchester, i've just never been there, michael's a bit rude but it's justifiable, okay i don't really know how to tag this, please don't let this disastrous attempt at tagging discourage you from reading the fic, that makes me sound like i hate manchester, uh.......???, very light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29775324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/pseuds/bellawritess
Summary: “Calum,” Luke says. It might be wishful thinking, but Calum is pretty sure he sounds happy. “What’s up? Haven’t heard from you in a while.”Yeah. Since Luke moved to London. Well. Since Luke got cast in a play in the West End and relocated in less than a week. Calum knows exactly when they last spoke was, and not only because there’s a time stamp on the text messages. Luke’s play — okay,the play Luke is starring in— had been a smashing success, and after he’d left Calum on read three times in a row, Calum had gotten the unsent message loud and clear.
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Calum Hood
Series: cake prompts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026627
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	even if i want to, i can't look away (it ain't easy to forget you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaleidoscopeminds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaleidoscopeminds/gifts).



> **prompt:** all i want to hear you say by sea girls
> 
> [tumblr link!](https://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/post/644439036793061376/hello-so-i-would-be-very-interested-in-a-fic)  
>    
> title from all i want to hear you say by sea girls
> 
> thank you hazel for the proofread <3
> 
> tw for mentions of alcohol

Calum only sees it because he has Luke’s Twitter notifications turned on, although if Michael asks, Calum doesn’t even know Luke’s _on_ Twitter.

**@LukeHemmings Tweeted:**

> missed u manchester!!

At which point he does the only logical thing: he excuses himself to the bathroom in the back and hyperventilates for about five minutes. And then he does a second, decidedly more idiotic thing.

“...Hello? Calum?”

“Hi, uh,” Calum clears his throat. “Hi. Luke.”

It _is_ Luke on the other end. Somehow he hasn’t changed his number. Not that people typically change their numbers after only a year, but Luke is different. Luke is famous now. Not like Calum, whose band has been playing this bar since he was old enough to drink here. Since _they_ were old enough. 

Calum wonders what would have happened if Luke had never left. Maybe the band would have gone somewhere. Now he’ll never know.

“Calum,” Luke says. It might be wishful thinking, but Calum is pretty sure he sounds happy. “What’s up? Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

Yeah. Since Luke moved to London. Well. Since Luke got cast in a play in the West End and relocated in less than a week. Calum knows exactly when they last spoke was, and not only because there’s a time stamp on the text messages. Luke’s play — okay, _the play Luke is starring in_ — had been a smashing success, and after he’d left Calum on read three times in a row, Calum had gotten the unsent message loud and clear. 

He’d thought they were the kind of friends distance could never conquer, but apparently he’d been mistaken.

Now he’s not sure what to say.

“Yeah, sorry,” he manages, awkwardly chewing the inside of his cheek. “It’s, life got busy, you know, uh, you know how it is.” Duh. Of course he knows how it is. He’s fucking Luke Hemmings. If anyone’s going to understand life getting busy, it’s Luke. “I just, I saw you were in town.”

“Oh, yeah,” Luke says, laughing a bit. “I am, yeah. I should’ve called, my bad.”

“No, no,” Calum says quickly. “It’s — no worries.” _Lucky I’ve got you on Twitter notifs, isn’t it,_ he doesn’t add. “How long are you here?”

“Just the weekend,” Luke says. “I go back on Monday.”

It’s out before Calum can stop himself: “D’you want to have lunch or dinner or something?” He swallows. “While you’re here?”

Someone knocks on the bathroom door. “Calum?” Michael. Fantastic. The last person Calum needs to hear from right now.

“Give me a minute!” Calum says, kicking the door. He winces. “Sorry. Mi— I’m, uh, possibly hiding in the bathroom. During my shift.”

Luke huffs a laugh. “I’d love to get lunch or dinner or whatever,” he says. It doesn’t even sound like he’s lying. Then again, this man is nominated for an Olivier. He could convince Calum he was interested in diving into an active volcano.

(He certainly managed to convince Calum that he was interested in him, so Calum should probably know better by now.)

“You could come to our show,” Calum says, because he’s petty. Or a fucking masochist. It’s possible to be both. “The band, I mean. We have a gig on Saturday night?”

“Oh!” Luke sounds surprised. Probably because he hadn’t anticipated the band staying together after he’d left. _This isn’t fucking Take That,_ Calum thinks bitterly. Maybe being famous has gone to Luke’s head more than Calum had originally thought.

Except then Luke says, “Shit, I’d love to come to a gig. I’ve missed you lads. You want to get dinner before? After? What time is the gig?”

And Calum’s right back where he started: hopelessly infatuated.

“Gig’s at six, so yeah, dinner afterwards,” Calum says. He shifts nervously on his feet. “Don’t get excited. Our venue hasn’t changed.”

“Still the pub?” Luke sounds fond. “Aw, I miss that place, though. I’m looking forward to coming back.”

 _You don’t need an invite,_ Calum thinks. _You can just show up._

That might not be true anymore, though.

“Sure you can handle it?” he says drily. “I mean, you’re not worried about crazed fans?”

Luke laughs awkwardly. “In a cheap bar in Western Manchester? Think I’ll be okay.” Calum’s trying to work out whether that’s a subtle dig when Luke adds, “Look, I’ve gotta run, actually, some — press things, but, uh, I’ll be there at six.”

“Great,” Calum says. “Fantastic. See you then.”

“See you then,” says Luke. He hangs up. Calum puts his phone in his pocket and stares judgmentally at himself in the mirror.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he mutters, rolling his eyes and turning away to return to his job. 

* * *

The fucking A string is fucked up. Calum has been trying to tune his bass to no avail — no matter how much he turns the tuning peg, the tuner won’t declare it a clear A. “Michael,” he says sharply, “my bass won’t tune.”

Michael materialises, his guitar slung over his shoulder. “Because you’re turning the wrong fucking knob,” he says. Calum looks over at his fingers. 

Oh.

“Oh,” Calum says embarrassedly. He moves his fingers and tunes the A string, then moves to the D string, which has gone completely flat thanks to Calum’s mistaken fiddling.

“You’re all nervous because _Luke’s_ coming,” Michael says, shaking his head to let Calum know exactly how he feels about _that._ “Stop worrying about it. He didn’t give a shit about the band when he was in it, he definitely won’t give a shit now that he’s out, alright?”

“Not helping,” Calum says, glaring. “And that’s not fair to Luke and you know it. He cared about the band. What was he supposed to do, _not_ accept a life-changing opportunity?”

Michael just rolls his eyes. They usually avoid discussing Luke. It always ends with Michael disparaging his name and Calum jumping to his defence, with Ashton stuck uncomfortably in the middle. Ashton had only been in the band about two weeks before Luke left — he’d never gotten the chance to know Luke. Calum also suspects Ashton just doesn’t want to get involved, because it had been clear to anyone in the room during rehearsals that Luke loved it. Calum doesn’t blame him for leaving. 

Just because he misses Luke like a lost limb, doesn’t mean Calum holds it against him.

“Whatever,” Michael says. “Long as he doesn’t try to rejoin.”

They could use Luke in the band again, but Luke’s more likely to dive into that active volcano than ask to rejoin the band, especially if Michael’s got that look on his face. “Yeah, Mike, I promise I won’t let the Olivier-nominated Luke Hemmings rejoin our band if he asks,” Calum says flatly.

Michael makes a face. Calum makes one back. 

“Boys,” Ashton interjects, sensing the tension lifting. “Less flirting, more setting up, please?”

Calum immediately throws an arm around Michael’s shoulders and grabs Michael’s head. Michael doesn’t protest when Calum smacks an exaggerated kiss to his cheek, because he’s amazing and the best friend ever. “But father, I love him.”

Michael clutches Calum melodramatically in return. “You can’t keep us apart, Ashton! You’ve been against intra-band love since the very first, but Calum’s the only man for me!”

And then he dissolves into giggles, taking Calum down with him.

“I can’t fucking stand the pair of you,” Ashton says, grinning wryly down at them.

“Someone’s jealous,” Calum snickers. “Mikey, I think Ashton wants in.”

“Hey, Luke’s here,” Ashton says. Both of them jerk upright like soldiers called to attention. “Sure, Luke can get you to behave and he’s not even in the band anymore, but when I ask it’s like talking to a wall? I see how it is.”

Michael kicks at his cajón. “Fuck off.”

Calum tries to turn subtly without looking like he’s turning. Sure enough, Luke is standing at the bar, chatting with Alex who’s behind it and preparing a drink. Probably a tequila soda. That had always been Luke’s order. He glances over at the stage and catches Calum’s eye.

Calum might as well be a year younger for how it still feels to meet Luke’s gaze.

This isn’t the Luke that left a year ago. Calum hadn’t expected that Luke. The news feeds have provided him with both mental and literal images of this new Luke, Luke Hemmings of the stage. Swanky clothes. Longer hair. Gone are the lip piercing, the ratty snapback that used to hide what Luke deemed “bad hair days” as if his hair ever looked different, the beaten trainers. If Luke looked worse, Calum would feel better.

But Luke doesn’t look worse. He just looks good in a different way. In fact, he looks better. More importantly, he looks far too expensive to be hanging around this sketty pub. Despite seeing photographs of him online nearly every day since his departure, Calum is taken aback by how much has changed in a year.

He’s not equipped. That much is clear. This had been a mistake. Calum’s going to open his mouth and instead of saying hello he’ll say _I can’t believe you became more gorgeous and you’re back just to mock us and laugh at the band you used to front and make me feel like even more of an idiot for thinking you liked me._

“It’s six,” Michael informs Calum, tapping his shoulder. Calum whips around, startled. The neck of his bass almost knocks over the mic stand. Michael raises an eyebrow. “We can start playing, yeah?”

“I’m ready,” Calum says. Michael gives him a Look. “I _am,_ ” Calum repeats. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Michael says huffily. He steps up to the microphone and turns it on. Calum takes his spot at his mic and waits for Michael to introduce them — “We’re 5 Seconds of Summer, and we hope you like our set!” — before going straight into ‘Unpredictable.’

He tries not to watch Luke for the whole set, but he can’t really help it. Not only is Luke the most magnetic person in the bar no matter how much it fills up, he’s also sitting directly in Calum’s line of sight. Intentionally? By coincidence? Calum decides he doesn’t want to know. Because it’s probably the latter. 

He does see someone approach Luke for an autograph and a photo at one point, though. Which is so weird that Calum forgets his next lyric and Michael shoots him another Look. 

The audience grows slowly throughout their set; Calum recognises a lot of the regulars, smiles and waves to the ones who smile and wave first. Behind the bar, Alex air-guitars along to their cover of ‘What’s My Age Again,’ as usual. Before Calum knows it, they’re playing their last song.

There’s no pretending they wouldn’t be better with two guitarists instead of just one, but Calum has to admit: as three-piece bands go, they’re pretty fucking incredible. Even if they never make it big, Calum can rest easy knowing it’s because of bad luck, not lack of talent. 

“Thank you so much,” Michael says into the microphone. “We’ve been 5 Seconds of Summer, check out our Facebook page for information on future gigs.”

“Thank you, everyone,” Calum contributes, then steps away to let the scattered applause wash over him. 

Luke is clapping loudest of all. He _would_ do that, as an alumnus of the band. If bands can have alumni.

When the attention of the room at large moves away from them, they set to taking apart and packing up their equipment. Calum is coiling up the cord for his bass when someone taps him on the shoulder.

“That was wicked,” says Luke. Like they’re not the first words he’s said to Calum’s face in a year. Calum stares at him. His face is glittering. Oh. That’s makeup. It’s shimmering on his eyelids when he blinks. Gold, sparkly. Pretty. Does Luke wear makeup now? Or is he only wearing it tonight because it’s a special occasion? Even though it’s really not a special occasion? It must be the former. Luke wears makeup now. He doesn’t post a lot on Instagram — _yes,_ Calum has notifications on for him there, too — and when he does it’s usually show-related stuff, in show makeup. Point being Calum’s earlier theory is once again proving itself true: he is not equipped.

“Thanks,” he says after he’s made is sufficiently awkward with his fucking staring game. He smiles. “Could’ve probably used another guitarist, but we do alright, yeah?”

Luke ducks his head. _Great, really well fucking done, Calum. Way to guilt him._ “I’m teasing,” he hurriedly assures Luke. “Thanks for coming.”

“Do you need a hand?” Luke gestures at the mess of cords around Calum’s feet.

Calum opens his mouth, but Michael, unfortunately, beats him to it. “We’re okay,” he says, stepping forward. “Hi, Luke. Nice of you to make an appearance.”

“Michael,” Calum hisses.

Luke bites his lip. “Hey, Michael. It’s, uh. You guys sounded sick, I was telling Calum.”

Even Calum can hear the _no thanks to you_ on the tip of Michael’s tongue. “Which I agreed with,” he says, looking at Michael like _be fucking civil._ “Because we did.”

“Yeah,” Michael scoffs. “Well, Cal, if you want to go on your date, Ash and I can handle the rest of the cleanup.”

Calum frowns and blushes at the same time, which feels funny. “I’m — I can —”

“Honestly, go,” Michael says, sighing. “If it’ll get Luke out of here, then go.”

“Jesus Christ, Michael,” Calum snaps. “Get your head out of your arse, would you? If you’re offended that Luke took an opportunity for success, then one of you is a dickhead and it’s not him.”

Michael’s face hardens. He snatches the half-coiled cord out of Calum’s hands. “Go,” he repeats. It’s not a request this time.

Calum grinds his teeth and turns to Luke, who’s frozen in place with a pained expression. 

“Ignore him,” he says tightly. “He’s been a dick about the whole thing. Let’s just go.”

Luke hesitantly follows after Calum. “I didn’t realise —” 

“Great set!” Alex calls, wiping down the bar. Calum manages a smile just for him. 

“Thanks,” he says, then glances over at Luke. “Yeah. I reckon I should have warned you.”

“I meant it that I’ve missed you lot,” Luke says mournfully. “I mean, I knew he wasn’t pleased, but…I sort of hoped he’d have gotten over it? Not that— I know I left, so I did ask for it —”

“Luke, come on. Don’t be thick.” Calum scoffs as they leave the bar. “It’s a Michael problem. He just thinks it’s an Olympic sport to hold the longest grudge or something. I love him, but he’s a fucking arsehole when he wants to be.”

“I — I know, but…” Luke sighs. “Yeah. I guess.”

The evening air is cool. Around them, shops and street lamps flood the road with illumination. The gold on Luke’s face catches the light like it’s being paid to do it. Calum only glances briefly at him before looking back at the pavement ahead and asking, “So…what do you fancy for dinner?”

“I seem to recall a Maccies this way,” Luke says. “I know it’s not the most elegant of places, but…”

“Say no more,” Calum says. “You never need to convince me to get Maccies.”

* * *

They sit across from each other, quiet for a few minutes as they both devour their burgers. Luke’s nails are painted with clear gloss. Calum isn’t sure if it’s the theatre effect or just the London effect that’s given him this extra glamour. Or the fame thing. Which is still decidedly strange. And also reminds Calum:

“Congrats, by the way.”

Luke looks up, confused. “Huh?”

“On the Olivier nomination,” Calum says. Luke smiles. “That’s a big deal.”

“It’s, uh, yeah. A bit.” He laughs. “Okay, a lot. It’s mad. Thank you.”

“You deserve it,” Calum says. “The play’s —” No. Nope. That’s not something he wants to admit to. “I’ve heard it’s good,” he amends quickly, but it’s too late. Luke, who is the definition of _selectively perceptive,_ squints.

“Have you seen it?”

Calum presses his lips together. His silence could probably speak for itself, but whatever. “I saw it last month,” he confesses. “My mum got us tickets, me and her and Mali.”

Luke stares. “And you didn’t think to tell this to me? Or ring me while you were in London?”

“You didn’t ring me when you came here,” Calum retorts. 

Luke bites his lip. “Touché. But why didn’t you say hello?”

Calum huffs a laugh. “You ignored my last three texts, Luke. I know how to take a hint.”

At this, Luke smacks his palm to his forehead. “Fuck. Shit. Fuck. I never replied to you. I’m so sorry. I kept reading them at the worst times and then forgetting to respond. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m really sorry,” Luke repeats. “I didn’t mean to fall out of touch, honest. I just…”

“Got busy,” Calum finishes. “I know. You don’t have to tell me. And look, not for nothing, the play’s bloody brilliant. So your hard work hasn’t been in vain."

“God, I’m a fucking idiot,” Luke says, like he hasn’t heard Calum speak. “Just the other day I was thinking of you. Wondering why you never reached out. I figured you were upset at me for leaving. Like Michael.”

“What? And you didn’t think to shoot me a text, maybe?”

“I thought you were cross! I didn’t think you would want to hear from me!”

“Luke —” Calum breaks off and shakes his head. “Can’t believe I thought you were any different when you’re actually the same fucking moron who left here.”

“Hey,” Luke halfheartedly protests. “Fucking moron who’s nominated for an Olivier.”

“Oh, _excuse_ me,” Calum says, rolling his eyes and grinning. Luke laughs almost to himself. “Look, it’s okay. We’re good now, yeah?”

Luke nods. “Promise to text you back from now on. And if I don’t, it’s not because I don’t want to hear from you. Just keep texting me. I’ll — I’m —”

“Don’t tell me you’re busy,” Calum says. “I know you are. I read the articles. How you find the time to do interviews and _also_ a show eight times a week is beyond me.”

Luke quirks his lips. “You read those?”

“Of course I do,” Calum says. _At first it was just to see if you’d say anything about me,_ he does not say. “Number one Hemmo fan.”

Luke laughs. “You didn’t even wait at the stage door to say hello. You’re nowhere near the number one fan.”

Calum scoffs in mock offence. “Yeah? Do your other fans know your drink order? Do they know who your first concert was? Do they have your _phone number?_ ”

“That’s not being a fan, you idiot, that’s being my friend,” Luke says, laughing.

Calum waves him off. “Same thing.”

“So what have you been doing?” Luke prompts once he’s polished off his burger. The napkin crinkles in his hands when he wipes his fingers, an action which becomes entirely pointless as he munches on the oily chips that had come with his meal.

“I still work at the bar,” Calum says. “Mike and I both. My, uh, my life is basically the same, honestly. Except we get paid slightly more to play now.”

“You should be playing the O2,” Luke says. “You’re really good.”

“Yeah, well.” Calum shrugs. “Can’t all have our dreams come true.” 

Remorse crawls over Luke’s face. Shit. Calum isn’t doing it on purpose. It’s just that sitting here, eating greasy fast food, it’s so easy to forget that they live in different worlds now. Passerbys peering through a window at them could surely tell, though. Calum’s Rolling Stones shirt and black snapback are no match for Luke’s carefully styled curls and leather jacket. It’s not a ratty leather jacket, either, but one of the really nice ones. Probably Gucci or something equally outrageous.

It doesn’t mean Calum’s any less smitten. Just that the crater between them might be too vast to cross, and Calum keeps forgetting there’s a crater at all until he nearly trips over the edge. Moments like now, where the look on Luke’s face is that of a kicked puppy. 

“Calum,” he starts, but Calum shakes his head.

“Never mind, sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You did a bit, though,” Luke says. “Right? You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t mean it a bit.”

“I’m not guilting you for doing what you love, Luke,” Calum says firmly. “I’m not. Anyway, I’m doing fine. Better, even. Don’t get a guilt complex, please. I’m happy for you, I’m happy myself, everything is fine.”

Luke grimaces and stuffs several chips in his mouth. Calum chomps down on one of his own. It’s a bit soggy but at least sufficiently salted. Not the best chips he’s had, though far from the worst.

“We left things a bit weird, though, didn’t we,” Luke says, staring determinedly at the table.

Calum nearly chokes on his chips.

 _A bit weird_ is probably the right way to put it. Calum’s been rejected in some pretty harsh ways, but having the boy in question pack up and move to a whole new city had been a first for him. If it had been a clear-cut rejection then maybe Calum could have handled it. It was the uncertainty that had done him in. Maybe that’s why he never made a real effort to stay in touch.

It’s one thing when your friend won’t answer your texts. It’s another when you really thought that friend had been into you, only for him to turn around and announce that instead of going out with you he’d be moving to London.

“I don’t mind if we just move past that,” Calum says now, hoping in vain that his voice won’t betray how much he has not moved past it. He’s an adult. He can be friends with someone he also fancies an embarrassing amount. He hadn’t intended to mention the whole will-we-won’t-we thing they’d done just before Luke had left. There’s not a lot to say about it.

“Do you mind if we don’t move past it? Yet?” Luke says nervously. “Can I say something and _then_ we can move past it if you still want to?”

Calum swallows. What the fuck could Luke possibly have to say about it, other than to maybe apologise for leading Calum on the way he did? “Uh, I suppose?”

Luke clears his throat. “Okay. Well, um, I just wanted to say that…I think when I left, that you maybe got the impression I was turning you down. And. I wasn’t. At all. I didn’t want to leave you, it was just what made the most sense, being in the play and everything. Um, and I didn’t really say anything because it wouldn’t have been fair of me to tell you I liked you when I was also moving four hours away — like, I didn’t want to do that to you.” He laces his fingers together on the table. “But you, um, seemed. Hurt. And I didn’t know how to tell you before, so I’m telling you now, it wasn’t because I didn’t like you. I did. I do.”

Calum must forget to breathe, because it’s dead silent around them. Luke finally looks up and winces. “Also, this isn’t a guilt trip, so like— if you have a boyfriend now, that’s— sorry, I guess I should have checked?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Calum says. “The bloke I was hoping would be my boyfriend decided to move to London and become a star, and I haven’t exactly gotten over him yet.”

A small, tentative smile pulls at Luke’s lips. “Really?”

“You sure took your time clearing that up,” Calum says. His heart is beating unreasonably fast, but he thinks it’s probably excused on the basis that the boy he’s fancied for two years and who would’ve broken Calum’s heart had Calum gotten the chance to share it with him is now returning his feelings. Exhilaration flutters around his chest, and he smiles. “But yeah, really.”

Luke’s face breaks into a genuine smile. He pushes a strand of hair behind his ear. “Oh, thank God. I thought after this long—”

“Underestimating just how much I like you, obviously,” Calum says. Luke brightens like a fucking spotlight. “Though it’s been the same amount of time for you, so if I have problems, then so have you.”

“Who’s got problems?” Luke says. “This is the opposite of a problem. I’m thrilled.”

“You do still live in London,” Calum points out, because again: masochist.

A shadow crosses Luke’s face, but it quickly disappears. “That’s— it’s only four hours.”

“Only.”

“Okay, it’s—” Luke squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t— shit. Look. I know it’s not practical, okay? But can we just pretend it is? So this isn’t a complete loss? I’m here until Monday morning.”

“One whole day,” Calum says. “Lucky us.”

“Yes,” Luke says decisively. “Be my boyfriend for a day, Cal. We’ll figure it out from there.” 

Every objection Calum has flies from his mind at Luke saying _be my boyfriend._ Struggling to maintain his composure, he hedges, “Really? You want to have a boyfriend who lives in Manchester and works in a bar and doesn’t even know how to identify what makeup you’re wearing? Which looks fantastic, by the way? And did I mention the whole living-in-Manchester thing? You know, four hours from London?”

Luke fixes him with a look. “Yeah, I want you to be my boyfriend, Calum. And all of the things that includes. It’s worth it to me.”

And. Well. Shit. “It’s worth it to me, too,” Calum admits. 

Maybe if he’d said that a year ago, Luke would have listened. Maybe they’d have gotten here much sooner. But at least they’re here at all.

Luke reaches across the table and his lips quirk up. “That’s all I want to hear you say.”

For a moment, Calum imagines that life is easy. Luke could always leave the show. Move back to Manchester. Spend late nights and early mornings in Calum’s flat (having made up with Michael, who splits Calum’s rent and living space). Do his makeup in their bathroom mirror and explain it all to Calum as he goes. Rejoin the band despite Michael’s initial stubborn grudge, and finally reclaim his role as lead singer, finally doing justice to melodies Calum and Michael could never quite sing the same way. If Luke had never been cast, Calum wonders if that’s how their lives would be. 

But it’s not how their lives _are_ , and Calum doesn’t want that anyway. Luke is doing what he’s born to do, and Calum would never forgive himself to pull him away from that. He doesn’t want it to be easy. The fact that Luke knows it won’t be easy and is willing to take it on anyway means far more, to Calum.

They can figure it out.

He laces his fingers with Luke’s and squeezes once, smiling when Luke smiles. So much is different, but fuck if that’s not the same beaming, blushing smile that’s always been just a little too big for Luke’s face. There’s hope for them yet. Calum can feel it.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3 i'm on tumblr [@clumsyclifford](http://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/) so come say hey!


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